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Donna's Poems
Forty-Seven September 6, 2004


Listen to the rain on the tin roof,
Is it laughter of uproarious proof.

See the sun through the grape vine arbor,
Slamming shafts the rays flickering and clear.

This lovely room with its own long view
Now to generations swings on true.

Even the drive as it winds up here,
Once a twist of the stirring wheel, dear?

Fences for kid's dogs, nut tree's for squirrels,
A fountain for bird's insane splashing whirls.

Apple trees, Blackberry's pampered selves,
Hardwood floors, and pine board shelves.

There have been kids, chicks, shoats,
Dogs, cats, sheep, goats,

All these and one hundred more above,
Stand for years, forty-seven, your strong love.

Maybe that other wealth disappeared, can't give that.
Don't need it do we? Ours is riches, hands down flat.

You never wanted anything but what you earned,
My love, my kids, you taught me, I learned.


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